


Happy Birthday Misha Collins

by BarPurple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Crack, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, Ridiculous, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:04:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The delight to the world that is Misha Collins celebrates his 40th birthday today. </p><p>A while ago I saw a Tumblr post wondering if the real Castiel was confused by the massive increase in prayers he received.</p><p>Mix these two separate things in my sleep deprived and frankly crazy brain and this happens.</p><p> </p><p>(Misha's birthday is actually 20th Aug. It was after midnight where I was when I posted this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday Misha Collins

There are many wonderful ways to wake up on the morning of your 40th birthday. Sleepy kisses from your amazing wife, or the kids bouncing on the bed with a surprise breakfast were definitely top of the list. Misha would have even accepted Jared and Jensen getting an early start on pranking him. Waking up alone to the sound of muffled sniveling hadn’t even been considered.

“You’re not actually awake, so you can stop panicking.”

Misha sat up slowly in bed looking hurriedly around the room. A thick wet snotty snort made him automatically reach for the tissues on the bedside table and that was when he spotted the owner of the tear clogged voice.

He blinked a few times, but the man didn’t vanish. There at the side of his bed was a crying angel, all three foot of him. 

“Erm, hello?”

It wasn’t perhaps the most impressive thing to say, but Misha was going on the theory that if this was a dream there was no one around to judge him. He was really hoping this was a dream, the only other explanation was that he’d suffered major head trauma. What else would explain the presence of a three foot tall, golden haired angel complete with little fluffy wings crying at him?

“Of course you’re dreaming you idiot. I nicked the idea from that bloody TV show of yours.”

“Oh. Okay. Who are you?”

The angel paused in wiping his dribbling nose on his sleeve to give Misha a filthy look. With a huff he straightened up and proudly declared.

“I am Castiel. The real Castiel.” 

“Hi, I’m Misha Collins.”

“Oh I know who you are. You’re the bloody actor who’s turned my existence into a sodding nightmare.”

With visions of being on the receiving end of a smiting in the immediate future Misha hurriedly stammered.

“I’m sorry.”

The real Castiel sighed and visibly sagged. His red rimmed eyes looked sadly at Misha.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be making sure you have a great day, oh, Happy 40th by the way, but I let myself get all worked up. I’m not really supposed to let you see me, but it so hard to ignore the prayers down here.”

Feeling he was expected to play an active role in this conversation Misha asked;

“The prayers?”

Castiel gave him a sad nod and another epic sniffle.

“From your fans. Every time they think my name I hear it. Kudos to the writer for getting that bit right. Thing is just being an angel of Thursday, I’ve never be that well known and now there’s all these people using my name, but it’s not me they want. That sort of thing can seriously undermine an angel’s self-worth y’know?”

Misha nodded and handed Castiel the box of tissues. The angel looking like he was about to start sobbing again. The room was starting to go fuzzy around the edges and Misha felt himself drifting off to sleep, which is a very odd sensation inside a dream. Castiel’s voice was fading;

“I best let you wake up now. I’ll make sure you have a fantastic day. If you could get the fangirls to ease up on the slash fiction a bit, I’d really appreciate it. Some of the stuff they come up with makes the devil blush, seriously. I mean it’s not physically possible for two men to . . . . . . . “

Misha jerked awake and sat bolt upright, the last wisp of his strange dream faded away. He grinned as he heard his family “sneaking” up on him with all the stealth of a cattle stampede. Chuckling he ducked back up the covers ready to start his 40th birthday in fine style.

 

Unseen Castiel watched the family with a fond smile on his now dry face. He was feeling better now he’d gotten all that off his chest. Not a bad chap really this Misha Collins bloke, even if he was far too tall to be an angel.


End file.
